


Dog Tags

by kirakira_nanoda



Series: Sherlock's military kinks [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Military Kink, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakira_nanoda/pseuds/kirakira_nanoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds out about Sherlock's militaty kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Tags

John is beginning to get sick of the constant slap of his dog tags against his chest. He knows technically that shouldn’t be the foremost thing on his mind considering he has Sherlock writhing in ecstasy beneath him with his obtusely long legs thrown carelessly around John’s hips and his pale white body slick with their combined sweat. Not to mention the noises Sherlock is making and the way he’s thrown his head back against the pillows to expose that beautiful neck. John wants to sink his teeth into it, mar Sherlock’s flesh in the way he knows drives him crazy with pleasure, but their position won’t allow it, at least not without messing up the rhythm they worked so hard to achieve. So John is stuck where he is, hovering over his blissed out lover, trying to think of a way to stop the dreaded noise of his dog tags. 

 

John had taken the rubber edges off because Sherlock liked the sound they made when they clinked together, which was fine during sex when Sherlock was the one topping. John had usually ended up smooshed face first against the wall or face down into the mattress or table top. But now Sherlock had decided he liked having John inside of him better and then also decided he liked it when he could see John’s expression as he came inside of him, and so John came to his current predicament.

 

It’s starting to really get on John’s nerves now. He’s hit Sherlock more than five times in the chin with them, not that he thinks Sherlock noticed – too busy moaning prayers in a voice that should be a sin – and he can feel an angry red mark appearing from where his tags are hitting him in the chest at the end of each particularly hard thrust. Sherlock arches his back and begs for more, ‘H _arder, faster, God, John. Please!’_  and John does as he’s told, increasing his speed, which unfortunately increases the momentum of his tags and drives them unbearably hard into his sternum. He’s had enough.

 

John reaches one of his hands up to hold onto the dog tags as he fucks mercilessly into Sherlock’s tight body, but only having one arm to support himself puts him off balance and John decides that he’ll just take them off completely.

 

Long thin fingers shoot around John’s wrist as he goes to remove them, and he glances down to see Sherlock giving him a look that could almost be considered disapproving.

 

‘What are you doing?’ Sherlock pants, almost glaring at John.

 

‘They’re annoying,’ John shoots back. ‘I want to take them off.’

 

‘Out of the question,’ Sherlock practically growls.

 

‘But... they’re... annoying.’ John emphasises each word with a thrust to try and distract Sherlock. It doesn’t really work. Sherlock’s eyelids flutter for a second but his grip does not so John is forced to keep his dog tags on.

 

He lowers his hand back down to the mattress, twisting his fists into the sheets by Sherlock’s head and moves his other hand to Sherlock’s hip, deciding he’ll fuck his frustrations out and try his best to ignore the _slap, slap, slap._

 

‘Sherlock...’ John complains, losing the rhythm as the constant hit against his chest becomes wildly out of time with his thrusts. Sherlock lets out a sigh of frustration and reaches up to grab hold of John’s dog tags. For a second John thinks he’s given in, that he’ll let John take them off. Then he remembers that it is indeed Sherlock Holmes he’s dealing with and that nothing is ever that simple.

 

Sherlock puts the dog tags in his mouth and as far as he seems concerned, the problem’s solved.

 

John suddenly loses the ability to think.

 

Dear Lord, why Sherlock moaning around two pieces of metal that are attached to a chain around John’s neck turns him on so much, John doubts he will ever know. He doubts that he will ever stop to think about it either.

 

John leans forward a bit, giving the chain some slack so he doesn’t accidentally pull the dog tags out of Sherlock’s mouth, and slides his hands to the inside of Sherlock’s thighs, spreading them as far as he can. He then proceeds to fuck his little heart out until Sherlock is writhing again and scratching his nails down any part of John’s sweat slickened body he can reach. John reaches down to pull Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock moans deeply, his teeth clanking against the dog tags as he reaches down to his own cock.

 

Sherlock comes hard, his whole back arching off the bed and throws his head against the pillows, teeth set firmly into the dog tags so John is forced to go with him. Sherlock’s fingers find John’s hair and they twine almost painfully as John fuck Sherlock to completion. Sherlock’s strangled cry is lost around the dog tags and John wants to rip them out of Sherlock’s mouth so he can hear him scream, but he is too close to his own orgasm to be able to stop now.

 

A few more thrusts and John’s done, burying himself in deep as he comes. Sherlock moans again and John has the sense to be able to pull the dog tags out of his mouth so he can hear it this time. They slap wetly against his chest, covered in Sherlock’s saliva and John’s never been so ready for round two so close to finishing round one.

 

He leans down and kisses Sherlock deeply, tasting too much saliva and a hint of metal as he slides gently out of Sherlock. Sherlock turns his head away and struggles for breath, closing his eyes as John collapses onto the mattress beside him and pulls him to his chest. Sherlock places his hand over John’s dog tags and presses them into his skin.

 

‘Don’t...’ Sherlock says, still trying to recover his breath. ‘Don’t ever take them off.’

 

‘Why?’ John asks, placing his hand over Sherlock’s. Sherlock mumbles something that John swears he must have heard wrong. ‘What?’

 

Sherlock sighs dramatically. ‘I have a military kink,’ he says. ‘I prefer it if you kept them on.’

 

John tries his best to stifle a laugh. ‘What? Were you pretending we were out on the battlefield in the middle of a war, fucking frantically in the hot, dusty sand or something?’ John giggles until he realizes Sherlock is trying very hard to pretend to be asleep. ‘What? Sherlock, were you? Were you pretending? Sherlock?’ John shoves him in the shoulder, but apparently Sherlock is pretending to be _deeply_ asleep. ‘Sherlock?’ John giggles to himself as he sees Sherlock’s cheeks flush, and places a kiss on his forehead.

 

So Sherlock likes to fantasise about a military fuck? John starts to wonder absently if his uniform still fits...


End file.
